Futures Lost To Time
by KnightlyWordsmith
Summary: These are the conversations they will never have. These are the moments that will never happen. These are the dreams they will never realize. A collection of one-shots pertaining to the futures the Freelancers were never able to have.
1. Baby Blue Eyes

**A/N- **This is a collection of one shots featuring the futures that the Freelancers were never able to have. The first few I have planned are interconnected, or at least exist in the same continuity, but others may have no connections at all.

I plan on touching on all of the Freelancers at some point or another, but this being me of course I have to start with York and Carolina.

**Disclaimer-** I'm only putting this here once, because I think we all know if I'm posting here, I don't own the rights to anything. So yes, everything belongs to RoosterTeeth, yadda yadda yadda.

* * *

"Where'd she get those eyes from?" York wondered softly, smiling down at the precious bundle in his arms. The newborn gazed up at him, her blue eyes wide and wondering.

"What do you mean, 'where'd she get them'?" Carolina's tired voice came from the bed he sat beside. Her red hair, darkened with sweat, was plastered against her forehead, and her startling green eyes were heavy with exhaustion, results of the hard labour she had just endured.

"Her eyes are blue," he replied. "There are no blue eyes in my family, and I've never seen any in yours. Is there something you and North aren't telling me?"

Her laughter was soft in response. "York, all babies are born with blue eyes."

"Really? Even me?"

That elicited more laughter. How he loved that sound. It was so lighthearted, so _happy_.

Green eyes met brown, her's still crinkled in mirth. "Yes York, even you."

"Oh good," York processed the new information. "Then I hope her's are green, as beautiful as yours."

"Weren't you telling Wash just the other day how if the baby was a girl you wanted her to be ugly so, and I quote 'no disgusting pigs would think of touching my baby girl'?"

York shrugged, careful not to upset the infant in his arms. "Yeah, but then I remembered I was a space marine and I can scare off any hoodlums."

There was that beautiful laugh again. How fortunate he was to be able to hear it.

_And soon, _he thought to himself as he looked back down at his newborn daughter, _I'll be fortunate enough to hear your laughter too._

* * *

**A/N-** So yes, this one was kind of short, but others in the future should be longer. Let me know what you though of it (:


	2. Mission Objective: Groceries

Buying groceries was something South both loved and hated. The source of these emotions was the same. It was so _domestic_.

The fact that the question of which can of tomato sauce to buy was an important part of her day made South long for the thrill of a firefight, for the rush she got from leaping out of an airship, and the excitement of never knowing what the next day would hold.

She studied the two cans of tomato sauce in her hands with a look of disgust on her face. One's label read 'Herbs and Spices', while the other's boasted 'Onions and Garlic'.

Why couldn't the weekly trip to the grocery store be a weekly mission, where the most important target wasn't arriving at the buy-one-get-one peanut butter before they were all gone? Each time she rounded the corner of an aisle with her cart, couldn't she be more worried about finding enemy targets around the corner, rather than being careful not to bump into an old lady puttering around with her own cart? Why couldn't the objects in her hands be the choice between the appropriate type of grenade to use against a target, rather than choosing the right taste for the lasagna she was making?

Why did domestic life have to be so boring?

Shaking her head at that train of thought, she decided on the sauce with the herbs and spices. She plopped that can into her cart and returned the other to the shelf.

South tried to work up some excitement for the cooking she'd be doing that night but failed miserably. As she turned her cart around she heard someone call her name.

"South? Is that you?"

Part of her dreaded the sound of that voice. It wasn't fair for her to want to ignore the speaker and hurry away. Not after she had just been reminiscing about the thrill of her old life. For all that she missed the rush and excitement, she still hadn't come to peace with all of her actions in the program, or with all of her fellow agents.

But with time away from combat her reaction time had slowed and before she could make her escape she'd been cornered.

"It's been awhile," said the shorter, brown haired woman.

South forced her face into a smile. She shouldn't be like this. Connie's voice was warm, and she should have been equally happy to see her, but she just couldn't muster up the proper emotions. She no longer felt anger or resentment like she would have even just a year ago, but she was still far from easily accepting everyone's friendship.

"Since York and Carolina's wedding I think," South replied, remembering the last time she had been forced to get together with the rest of the former Freelancers. "How have you been?"

"Good," Connie nodded, her smile broadening. "Real good actually."

She did look good. Her smile came easy, and her entire face seemed to glow, radiating a peace and joy South knew was out of her own reach. Despite the fact that South still wasn't ready to be all 'kumbaya' with the other Freelancers, it was nice to see her this happy.

The source of Connie's happiness became apparent when South caught the sight of something glittering on her right hand.

Pointing at the ring on Connie's finger, South asked wryly, "Wash finally get the balls to ask the big question?"

Connie blushed a deep rough. "Stumbled over it is more accurate, but yes. We're only in the planning stages, but of course you'll be invited to the wedding."

"Wouldn't miss it," South replied, and this time it was a little easier for her to put friendliness into her voice.

"I'm glad," Connie replied, and then glanced distractedly down at her own cart. "It was nice seeing you, but I really have to get going."

"Of course, me too," South nodded, and stepped away. "See you around."

Pushing her cart further along the aisle, the smile that had graced her face when talking with Connie remained, but it was no longer forced. She had been reminded of the reason she also loved the monotonous act of grocery shopping.

After going through hell and back as part of a top secret military organization, ran by a man so driven he could only be called insane, the fact that she could ever again do something so normal as shop for groceries was nothing short of a miracle. The fact that some of them could find true happiness in others, like Connie and Wash, went far beyond miraculous.

Maybe, just maybe, she'd get there one day too.

But as for right now she needed to pick up a box of lasagna noodles and get ready to cook supper. It was something so domestically boring it thrilled her like preparing for a new mission.

* * *

**A/N-** I hope you all liked this one as well. I know it's of a very different strain than the first piece, but I also wanted to play around with the everyday acts that the Freelancers would have performed had they all made it out of the program.

As always I'd love to hear what you thought of it. I love constructive criticism (:


	3. Just Superficial

**A/N- **

I've never written anything from this character's perspective, so you may find it a little OC, but overall I'm happy with it.

Also, I hate the title for this one, but my brain refused to think of anything creative.

Hope you all enjoy (:

* * *

Steady steps brought him down the dusty drive to his old home. A battered sign, so weathered you could no longer read the writing on it, creaked in the faint wind. He could hear a soft _hiss_ as the sign brushed against the overgrown bushes which lined each side of the drive.

Although all of the agents of Project Freelancer had been pardoned for any actions they performed during their time in the program, his freedom had come with a few restrictions.

He wished he could have re-entered the force with Wyoming, serving as a soldier in a non-top-secret program. He even would have liked to take up work like Wash, who was helping to rehabilitate soldiers suffering from the inflictions of war. Instead, he was deemed too volatile to be allowed any connections to the military and found himself here.

With no hope of re-entering the military the only thing left for him was to return to the one other place he could feel at home. His grandmother's alpaca farm.

Coming up the drive, Maine glanced up at the farmhouse. He knew inside he would find his grandmother shuffling around as she prepared herself a cup of tea. She would then sit in her ancient rocker, a relic once owned by _her_ grandmother, sip on the tea and pick up whatever knitting project she had at the time.

The house had seen better days. It was not like this came as any sort of surprise. At the ripe old age of 99 he doubted that his grandmother was able to do much in the line of repairs.

The paint was peeling, many of the railings on the wrap around porch were showing signs of rot, and there was more than one cracked shutter flanking the windows. Thankfully, the damage looked to be mostly superficial. The foundation was still in good order, and the supporting beams of the overhang covering the porch still looked sturdy.

Maine glanced down at his own battered and scarred hands. Superficial damage as well. The muscles and fibers underneath were still strong and sturdy, and in time he could use them to fix the damage on the house.

Rather than go into the house and greet his grandmother Maine continued along the dirt path that led to the equally battered barn.

The last time he had seen his grandmother she had just cracked 90. It was right before he had left to join the military. Even then his grandmother had still been one of the most imposing women he'd ever met. After meeting the woman of Project Freelancer, that appraisal still stood.

She had stood just a hair under five-foot-five, age having weathered down her once five-foot-seven frame, and looked more robust than some people ten or even twenty years her younger. The stare she could level you with had no match. It was the kind that instantly made you remember every misdemeanor you'd ever done and instantly regret them.

It also didn't hurt that even at that age he'd seen her run trespassers off of her property with the rifle she kept stored in her closet.

Guns didn't scare him, but right now the thought of that disapproving glare sent a tremor down his spine.

She had never approved of his wish to join the militia, and he knew that she would be less than impressed at what he'd done in his time there. Even if he didn't tell her right away he knew she'd get the whole story from him, and what she would think of him made him shudder.

There was no one else on this planet, or any other, who could make him feel this frightened. Then again, he never cared for the approval of anyone other than the woman who had raised him.

As a child whenever he had done anything wrong she had set him to work. When he got in a fight with another boy who had mocked him about his absent mother, she sent him to repair fence posts in the field. The time he and a friend were caught dropping rocks on cars passing under the old overpass, she made him spend hours re-organizing the barn.

She always said that hard work was the only way he would learn from his mistakes, so work he would.

In the field he saw four alpacas, a far cry from the large herd which once graced the farm. They too were a little scruffier than he remembered, but otherwise in good health. After checking that they had an adequate supply of food and water, he proceeded into the barn.

It was in desperate need of a new paint job, one of the doors was leaning heavily on its hinges, and both the exterior walls and the roof were pockmarked with holes. The interior of the barn, though still in rough shape, was better than would be expected from the outside. There was a thin layer of dust on most of the surfaces, but otherwise it appeared orderly.

He decided to start work on the large double doors first. He reinforced the door that was leaning, and then oiled the hinges of both. The ghost of a smile graced his face as he swung first one door, then the other, open and close without a creak. One job well done.

The other jobs in the barn would have to wait for later. He did not have the lumber that would allow him to patch the holes in the walls and the roof, and likewise he had no paint to replace the peeling coat that currently resided on the walls.

He did however grab the old battered broom that lent against the wall and swept up the dust and debris from the floor. He gripped the handle of the broom, worn smooth from years of use, and faint memories surfaced of his time growing up. In his mind's eye he could see his grandmother chasing him around with this very broom, after he had been caught filching from the neighbor's vegetable garden.

Once the floor was as clean as he could get it, Maine set the broom aside and headed back out the door. He put off going inside for a few moments more by walking the fence and straightening any of the posts that were leaning.

As he finished his round of the pasture fence, the sun dipped below the tips of the trees. He knew he couldn't wait any longer. It was time for him to brave the porch steps and greet his grandmother.

That ghost of a smile which played across his face at the sight of the repaired door returned in full when he turned toward the porch.

There she stood, now well under five-foot-five, but still more imposing than any woman her age had any right to be. Her eyes tracked his steps as he slowly made it up to the porch.

He stopped one step below her, silently waiting for her to say something. Even standing on the lower step he towered over her and his eyes traced over her face, taking in the signs of aging. Her hair was thinner, and her wrinkles deeper, yet her eyes were still as sharp as ever.

That stare though. That one that had quelled him a thousand times growing up. The one he was so worried about facing. It was nowhere to be seen. Not yet at least.

Finally she broke the silence. "They got you good there didn't they," she said in her gravelly voice, reaching up to brush the scarred skin on his throat. He rumbled quietly in assent.

Her voice was sharp and to the point, like always. There was little of the warmth and welcome most grandmothers would have after seeing their grandson for the first time in nine years. That wasn't the way she was, nor was it the way she raised him.

"Well, knowing you it wouldn't have affected your appetite," she said shortly, and without another word she turned around and shuffled back to the door. He knew the only thing there was for him to do was follow.

The inside of the house showed more of the telltale signs of neglect. The door rattled painfully as it swung shut behind them, an odor which hinted at mold drifted up from the threadbare carpet, and he saw at least two cracks in the ceiling that showed signs of leaking when it had rained.

His grandmother shuffled quietly into the dining room. A dusty old ceiling lamp bathed a soft golden glow over the rickety old wooden table in the center of the room. One place was set on it. Maine felt a faint rumble in his stomach as the mouthwatering aroma of the food wafted up from the plate.

As he took his place at the table his grandmother passed into the kitchen. She returned a moment later with a steaming mug of tea.

She sat down opposite him and sipped absently at her tea. He sat and waited, not daring to touch the food. She had something to say, she was just taking her time getting there.

"I'm glad to see you back, mostly in one piece," his grandmother said finally, putting the tea mug down. He thought he could hear a hint of pride in her voice as she said it, but as she went on it disappeared. "But you went to work before you even came to see me. I may be old, but I still remember what that means."

Her brows furrowed slightly, and her eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly. That ever familiar guilt slowly twisted a knot in his gut. The smell of the food set before him was replaced with the coppery tang of blood. Images of blood and gore flashed in his mind's eye, accompanied by the sounds of firearms discharging and the screams of the dying.

"You've done some things you're not proud of," she said sagely. She then reached across the table and one of her hands, gnarled as it was by age, settled over his own heavily scarred one "But don't you worry Alexander, there's more than enough work here to make up for what you've done."

Coming from her, he could almost believe it.

* * *

**A/N-**

Yes, I have a legitimate headcanon where Maine grew up on his grandmother's alpaca farm. Don't judge me.

Tune in next time to see just how awkward Wash's proposal to Connie was ;)


	4. Colourful Mishap

**A/N-**

Um, so I know that I said the next piece would be Wash proposing to Connie (I seriously almost typed York instead of Connie there), but I've been suffering a bit of writer's block and then out the blue this popped into my mind and it was easy to write. Hopefully this will help me get back into a writing mood and I'll have Wash's proposal up soon.

* * *

Carolina's cursing and swearing was what brought York to the bathroom door. When she turned to look at him she glared, daring him, just _daring _him to say something.

His one good eye looked her up and down, a hint of concern in it as he checked to be sure she was alright. As his gaze landed on her head she saw his eye widen, and his hand reach up to his mouth to stop a poorly concealed chuckle.

"Don't you dare say whatever it is you're thinking," Carolina threatened, her eyes narrowing further.

"Your uh," York cleared his throat with a noise that sounded suspiciously like another strangled chuckle. "Your hair looks nice."

With an angry cry Carolina hurled the box of hair dye into the nearby garbage can. "York, don't make fun of me," she growled, crossing her arms angrily over her chest.

"No, I mean it," York said, walking towards her, arms out, still trying to suppress a grin. "It uh, makes you look young and hip."

"That's what I was trying to do, but look at it!" She fumed, embarrassed to feel the prick of frustrated tears building in her eyes. She protested as York wrapped his arms around her, but in the end relented, keeping her arms crossed stubbornly in front of her.

"I wanted to get rid of my grey hairs," she admitted to his chest.

York laughed again, this time not trying to hide it. She pulled back, smacking him on the chest. "Stop laughing at me."

"I'm sorry, I can't help it," York replied, grinning down at her. "It's just, you're worried about grey hairs, and I love them."

"You like grey hairs?" Carolina asked.  
York nodded, "Grey hairs, wrinkles, I think they're all great," he said, reaching a hand up and tracing the thin crease in her brow that Carolina had noticed was now visible even when she wasn't frowning.

"They mean I'm getting to grow old with you," he said softly.

He was an infuriating, romantic, dork but whenever he said something like that Carolina couldn't stay mad at York. She wrapped her arms around him in return, resting her head against his shoulder.

As he pulled her closer York added, "And I really don't think it looks that bad."

"York, my hair is pink."

* * *

**A/N-**

I think I might write a little bit too much with these two but I can't help myself...

This was actually almost going to be between South and North, but I couldn't get it to be anything other than North teasing South mercilessly about dyeing her hair a crazy colour, and I couldn't really fit in the more serious aspect I was trying to get across of the fact that after Project Freelancer growing old is a bit of a blessing for the Freelancers.

ONE THAT ROOSTERTEETH DIDN'T LET THEM HAVE!

Me, bitter? No not at all...

Anywho, I'm done here. I'd love to hear what y'all thought of this one. I'll try my best not to disappear for another month without posting another chapter :)


	5. By Your Side

**A/N-**

So yeah, I'm just gonna stop making promises about what's coming up next...

I've got something that I think I should mention, just in case any of y'all get confused. I know I said before that a lot of these one-shots (and all of the ones posted so far) exist in the same continuity, or universe, or whatever, but that doesn't mean that I'm necessarily posting them in chronological order. More like whatever comes easiest gets posted first, so that's why Wash and Connie's proposal is getting pushed back again. Time instead for some South angst.

Also, the rating's gone up some because angsty Souh is a bit of a potty mouth.

* * *

How did this happen?

South was alone in her small two room apartment, fighting back a flow of tears that threatened to start spilling down her cheeks

It had been a fucking one-night stand. She couldn't even remember the asshole's name. It was Matthew, or Marcus, or something…

She spent another moment or two on trying to remember his name. Anything to distract her from the small object clutched in her hand.

She'd been careful. She always was, and made sure Martin or whatever his name was too. Despite all of her precautions the pregnancy test wrapped in her fingers still read positive. As did the two others now lying at the bottom of the trash can, testaments of how sure she wanted to be that this wasn't a mistake.

She continued to stare numbly at the test in her hand, her vision beginning to cloud from the unshed tears.

Why?

The question repeated over and over again in her head?

Why her? Why now? Why couldn't things go right for her? Why couldn't she ever get the happily ever after? Why was everyone else happy and moving on when she was stuck in a rundown apartment, working a dead end job, and now pregnant?

Wash and Connie were married. So were York and Carolina. They already had a kid, and another was in the oven. Maine was happy on his farm, and wherever Wyoming was she was she he was happy too.

Of course North was also fine. North was always fine. Everything always turned out right for her dear, sweet brother.

Why was she always the odd one out? The malcontent? The black sheep?

The sound of her phone ringing brought her out of her numb state. South flipped it open and answered with a hallow 'Hello.'

"South? Where are you?" North's voice answered her on the other end.

Oh yeah. Dinner. With North. And his wife. And their bouncing baby boy. And their happiness. And their perfect little everything.

"I thought we said we'd meet an hour ago," North continued. She could hear a hint of annoyance, that bit of resignation that was always in his voice when she'd messed up. Couldn't be easy being the brother of one of the world's biggest screw ups.

"Oh, um," South tried to get her thoughts in order. Baby. North. Mortimer? "Something-something came up."

"South, I was worried about you." North, always worried about her. Always thinking he had to take care of her. He was a whole fucking eight minutes older than her and yet he seemed to think it entitled him to treat her as child.

When she didn't say anything, North spoke again. "South, are you okay?" The annoyance was gone. The irritation, the resignation it was all gone from his voice and in its place was only soft concern.

She screwed up time after time in her life. Why did she have a brother who insisted in staying at her side after all this, even when she annoyed him? Even when she hated him.

Would he still feel like this if he knew she was pregnant with the child of a man whose name she couldn't even remember? Would that tip him over the edge so even he'd finally see she wasn't worth his time to try and help?

The tears that had been building behind her eyes spilled forward. A choking sound escaped her throat. She then broke into full sobs.

"South? South what's wrong?"

"I-I don't know what to do,' she admitted, hiccupping over the words. She pressed a hand to her face, trying and failing to stem the tide of tears that we now flowing down her face.

Later, she could hate him for caring so much when she didn't want it. Later, she would realize that it was the very thought of not having him to fall back on that made her cry, but right now there was only one thing on her mind.

"I-I need my big brother," she whispered.

* * *

**A/N-**

I think I'm getting a better grasp on South's charcters and like how this one turned out better than the first one that featured her. Feel free to comment and let me know how you think I did writing her and North in this one.


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